


The ice of your gaze sparks a fire in my soul

by Chibiness87



Category: A Discovery of Witches (TV)
Genre: F/M, Vampires, Witches, Wrist Kiss, i think i'm obsessed, i'm totally okay with that...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 11:30:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16263311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibiness87/pseuds/Chibiness87
Summary: It feels like snow





	The ice of your gaze sparks a fire in my soul

**The ice of your gaze sparks a fire in my soul** , by **chibiness87**  
**Rating** : G  
**Season/Spoilers** : to end of 1.02  
**Disclaimer** : Not mine

 **Summary** : It feels like snow

* * *

 

It is his eyes that alert her to his presence. Like all vampires, the weight of his gaze on her skin is cold, but unlike all others of his kind, this is more like the fluttering of snow around her, not ice crystals piercing her flesh. He hands her the book she had so foolishly allowed her magic to assist with, and feels his eyes make a sweep over her. The snow of his gaze flurries over her, and it is all she can do to stay still, a flush developing in her core, something deep in her fluttering in recognition.

She ignores it. He is a vampire, after all.

Later, on the canal bank, she feels his gaze again. But this is different; he is different. Gone is the gentle flurry, now he is a blizzard. Powerful and beautiful at the same time, elements wrestling for control. A glance at his face tells her what she already suspected; his eyes are dark, and she knows this is his true self, his vampire self, laid bare before her. Her pulse pounds, heightened already with her exercise, but now awareness of her situation makes her adrenaline sing. Flight or fight responses as old as time have her ready to spring into action, but his gaze keeps her rooted to the spot. She can see his fight for control on his face, muscles twitching, can hear the tightness in his voice as he explains what she needs to do to survive. She wonders how many others he has warned, and how many others has he simply struck? Walking past him slowly is the hardest thing she has ever done, and when she is only a few steps past she feels his blizzard on her nape. Pausing, she tilts her head, almost turning, before his rasped urge to keep going pushes her onwards.

He intrigues her.

She knows the stories the witches tell, of vampires seducing unsuspecting souls, taking their blood, their memories. Knows the inherent mistrust between the species, knows she should stay away. But still… he intrigues her.

And, unlike every other blasted Creature in Oxford, he doesn’t spend every second in the library, waiting for her to call up a book from the stacks again. She knows when he is around, of course. His particular snowfall cooling her irritation and fire when she feels the weighted gaze of others, but it is a passing sweep; it doesn’t linger. She finds, shockingly, she wishes it would.

So when she is threatened, threatened by witches no less, their normal pleasant gaze like daggers and knives on her skin, and Peter Knox burrowing into her head, she seeks him out. Because he may be a vampire, but his is the only gaze which settles her. His is the only presence which does not set her teeth on edge, when she knows it should be the other way around. Her disappointment at his absence is palpable, and it takes her a long moment to pull herself together to leave the door to his room. When she reaches the stairs, and a figure is blocking her path, she knows it is him before he steps into the light, the crisp snowfall calming her.

In his rooms, she feels her anxiety spike as she thinks of her situation, and she selfishly wishes he would look at her, if only to have the cooling sensation on her soul. But her adrenaline keeps him on the other side of the room, and it is only now, with her in his chair and him forcing himself to stay put (she can see the tension in his shoulders) does she wonder what it is _her_ gaze does to _him_. Deep breaths help, and she forces her heart to slow, her fears to calm (not of him, though; never of _him_ ) and is rewarded by this sight of his eyes. His gaze does the rest of what she couldn’t do herself, and she feels herself relax. Feels, for the first time all day, safe.

He takes her to his lab, explains his research, and she knows she is one of the privileged few, and surely the only witch to be given such insight. The way Marcus approaches her, smells her, makes her take a step back; the ice in her veins telling her to flee. Behind her, she hears a warning growl, feels a sweep of cold air, but this time the predator in him is not focused on her, it is focused on the younger vampire before them. A quick glance out of the corner of her eye confirms her suspicions; his eyes are dark. And yet, when he turns his cool gaze on her for a moment, checking to make sure she is unharmed, she feels seared to the spot.

Wearing his coat is a sign of possessiveness even she knows, and she cannot help but bury her head in to breathe his scent. His eyes land on hers for a long moment when she does, something on his face she can’t quite decipher. His eyes blink closed slowly, and her heart gives an answering thud.

When he walks her back to her rooms later, she finds she cannot keep the secrets of Ashmole from him. More to the point; she doesn’t want to. So she tells him what she saw in those few precious moments she had, before the power of the book overcame her. When he takes her wrist in his grasp, she gives a soft huff of surprise, but before she can do anything his thumb is tracing over her pulse, and she can feel her heart race in response. Knows he can hear it, smell her adrenaline. Fear mingling with desire, and goddess, she has never felt a pull like this before.

The press of his lips, gentle and sure, over the thrum of her pulse makes her think of the aftermath of a snowstorm, before the landscape is disturbed. Cool and crisp and unblemished snow, his eyes, when they meet hers, are soft and serene. He gives her another slow blink, the snowflakes of his gaze fluttering once more. Releasing her hand, he gives a soft smile, before turning towards the road once more.

As he walks away, she shivers.

* * *

 

End

Thoughts?


End file.
